


George and Henry Under the Table

by espark



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espark/pseuds/espark
Summary: From under the table, George felt a warm touch against his knee. This time it was Henry’s hand.Henry said mischievously, “Yes, well - I like watching George squirm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set at Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden’s wedding reception, directly after 'Holy Matrimony, Murdoch!' (Season 8, Episode 4).

George’s eyes were drawn to the faint scar above Henry’s lip. It often caught his attention. The pale line from his right nostril down to his mouth reminded George of the mischief that lay beneath Henry’s boyish, clean cut look. The thought made him smile. They were sitting together at Detective Murdoch and Doctor Ogden’s wedding reception, surrounded by flowing fabrics, delicate blossoms and bright music. The newlyweds glowed with joy and the mood was contagious. 

Henry caught George staring and shot him a wicked grin.

George had to say something. “Thanks for saving me from making fool of myself in front of Detective Murdoch and Doctor Ogden.”

Henry added gleefully, “ _and_ all the constables from Station House No. 4 _and_ all the wedding guests.”

Affronted, George sat up straight. “Henry, I was trying to be gracious.” He scolded, “Do you always have play around?” He took a drink and looked out to the dance floor.

From under the table, George felt something warm and firm press up against his leg; it was Henry’s leg!

George froze. He carefully breathed in and out. George kept his eyes fixed on the dance floor, not daring to look at Henry. In the time it took for George to wonder if Henry had done it by accident, he realized - no, there was no doubting Henry’s intention. His friend’s leg was staying put. George considered pulling his leg away, but he wouldn’t back down and give Henry the satisfaction.

Henry continued breezily, “George, if I’d wanted to make fun, I would have said, ‘ _I can’t stop you from making a fool of yourself, you do that all on your own_.” 

George felt he ought to say something, but his brain was preoccupied with marveling at Henry’s leg touching his.

Taking advantage of George’s silence, Henry continued, self-satisfied, “or maybe I’d have said, ‘ _It’s a good thing too or else you’d have ended up throwing your arms around the inspector instead of me_.” 

Henry knew just how to push his buttons.

Fed up, George exclaimed, “Enough!” and punched Henry gently in the arm. Or at least he’d intended it to be a gentle shove, but Henry must have had more to drink than he’d realized. Henry swayed and nearly fell out of his seat. Off balance, Henry reached out and grabbed George's arm just as George caught Henry around the waist. Their eyes met. George felt his breathing catch and for long moment, he couldn’t pull away. 

Suddenly, Inspector Brackenreid sat down at their table with his wife. “Be careful, lads. There’s been enough close calls today.” Brackenreid chuckled.

Henry and George sprang apart. Was it his imagination or could George still feel some residual heat from Henry’s leg on his trousers?

The inspector continued unaware of the constables’ awkwardness. “I don’t know which would’ve been worse, letting a murderer go free or having to ask Margaret to borrow her ring for the ceremony.”

Mrs. Brackenreid exclaimed, “You’d lost the ring! Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Then to Crabtree, “That’s why you were late?” she asked imperiously.

Already uneasy, George said conspiratorially, “Please don’t tell Murdoch or Dr. Ogden.”

Henry however, seemed only too happy to expound on the subject. He explained, “At first, George’d thought I’d taken the ring as a prank.” Turning to George he said, “I can’t believe you thought I’d play tricks with something so important.”

George quipped back, “Oh really? You stole my Regis Skyline number 7 and hid it where an American spy could use it for … espionage.” 

Inspector Brackenreid rolled his eyes at the bickering constables, “I’ve heard enough of this foolishness. I’m getting another scotch.” He stood and left the table.

Henry flashed another wicked grin, the faint scar above his lip crinkling. 

Henry suggested, “I know, George. _You_ should steal something from _me_. It’d be fun. I could go through all your things looking for it, rummage through your drawers, dig through your pockets.” His smile grew wider, his mind whirling, “Maybe take my bicycle? … No that’s too big.” He paused, frowned, and then offered, “How about my lunch pail? .. No, no, not important enough. … What about a key…”

George cut him off, “Henry, it’s no good if you _tell_ me what to steal.”

Mrs. Brackenreid laughed, “Thomas was right about you two. A couple of playful pups. It’s a wonder you get any work done with all your poppycock.”

From under the table, George felt a warm touch against his knee. This time it was Henry’s hand. 

Henry said mischievously, “Yes, well - I like watching George squirm.” 

Henry’s hand settled comfortably on George’s thigh, just above his knee, gripping lightly. George’s heart sped up. A heat flooded his body. What was Henry playing at now? He was tempted to turn and glare at Henry, but didn’t dare move an inch.

Then, Mrs. Brackenreid was talking to Dr. Ogden. Something about the flowers? George had trouble following the conversation. He was too distracted by the hand gently gripping his leg to pay much attention to anything else. 

George felt Henry’s thumb glide up and down, stroking his outer thigh. George felt a rush of excitement war with his embarrassment. Part of him wanted Henry to stop; this wasn’t playing fair. But another part of him, the wanton part, hoped Henry would keep going. 

A piece of cake appeared in front of George.

As Henry’s hand crept up George’s inner thigh to rest dangerously close to the growing bulge between his legs, panic took over. How much brandy had his friend consumed? He had to get Henry to stop, otherwise he’d die of mortification. George’s mind was scrambled. What could he do?

George dropped the cake onto Henry’s lap.

Henry shouted, “Oy!” and pulled away abruptly. He stood up to brush the wedding cake off his clothes and lost his balance again. George reached out to steady Henry just as Brackenreid returned. George knocked the inspector’s arm, spilling scotch all over.

“Bloody Hell!” Brackenreid shouted.

Dr. Ogden came over and then Murdoch was there too. “Is everything alright?” The bride asked.

George froze. Between the alcohol he’d imbibed and Henry’s fooling around, his brain refused to work. Lord, what could he say?

Then Henry burst out laughing. It was a boisterous, joyful laugh, as if George had just made the funniest joke he’d ever heard. Murdoch let out a small chuckle and Dr. Ogden joined in with a soft giggle. George let out his breath. His shoulders dropped, the panic dissolving. The string quartet encouraged the mood by striking up a spirited waltz.

The inspector shook his head but forgave the loss of his beverage. “It’s a good thing there’s plenty more scotch where that came from,” Brackenreid said. He gestured with his empty glass and walked towards the bar. His wife followed him, muttering about moderation.

Henry was shaking with laughter now, bits of cake tumbling down with his mirth.

George looked at his friend dubiously, then turned to the bride and groom and said, “I think I’d better take Henry home. He’s had enough to drink.” George took Henry by the elbow as he bid the the newlyweds farewell. “Congratulations!” he called back.

Henry’s merriment finally seemed spent. As George guided him out of the reception tent, he called back to the happy couple, “Yes, best wishes and all that!”

Outside the tent, the fresh air was sobering. Henry pulled away from George and paused. The lively sounds of the waltz filled the space between them. Henry looked down and said seriously, “You don’t have to take me home, George. It’s fine.” 

George rolled the thought of Henry around in his mind. They’d always shared a sense of humor and had a lot of fun. Now, it seemed they could have a lot _more_ fun. 

His mind made up, George declared, “Nonsense, Henry. As I said earlier, _you’re_ my best man. Of course I’ll see you home safe.” George pronounced this in his pompous way. But Henry wasn’t convinced and stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes downcast.

George realized his mistake and changed to a more playful tone, “Besides, it would be a wonderful opportunity for me to steal something important from you.”

Henry looked up. His grin reemerged, his face once again showing a mix of boyish charm and devilish silliness. 

George couldn’t resist. He reached out with his thumb and gently brushed the scar above Henry’s lip. George dropped his hand but not his gaze. Henry’s expression transformed from impish delight to steady complicity.

It might have been George’s imagination, but he could have sworn he heard the bright strains of the waltz accompanying them all the way home.


End file.
